


i'd rather drown

by ravens_tell_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (if you squint), A Bit of Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Oil Gland Kink, PWP, Wing Kink, handjobs, just at the end, no beta we die like men, sam winchester ships destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravens_tell_stories/pseuds/ravens_tell_stories
Summary: “Was there anything weird that you noticed?”“Weird? Other than the fact that I could see you while you were several states away?”“Yes, Dean,” Cas sounds impatient now, which is never a good sign. “Weirder than normal.”Dean tilts his head, weighing his options, then sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I, uh… I could see your wings.”~~wing!kink destiel oneshot.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 304





	i'd rather drown

**Author's Note:**

> (than to go on without you)
> 
> heeellllllllloooo!! this is my first ever attempt at smut, and since i've read almost all of the destiel wing kink stories on this website i decided it would be a good ship to start with. please keep in mind that i am a virgin and also female so if there are any noticeable inaccuracies that is probably why.  
> also i have absolutely zero knowledge about wings so i just kinda went for it?? idk.  
> ((no beta, any and all mistakes are mine.))  
> kudos and comments are appreciated!!

Logically, Dean knows about Cas’ wings. He knows they exist, and he knows they’re massive. He also knows they’re a deep midnight blue, almost pure black, and that the feathers Cas sometimes gives the brothers are important in various spells.

But somehow he never, not once, comprehended the idea that they would really be, well, real.

He sees Castiel twice. Once, walking along the side of a highway in the woods, it’s light enough outside that he gets a clear view of the imposing, fierce wings for the first time, arching high behind Castiel’s back. By the time he stops the Impala and looks back at the spot where the angel had been standing, though, he’s gone.

The second time it’s dark. Dean sees him through a window, staring directly back, and his wings are curled almost protectively around his shoulders. His face, clearer from this distance, is still covered in a dark beard and smeared with dirt and blood. Then he’s gone, blinked out of sight in an instant.

If it had only happened once, Dean would have chalked it up to sleep deprivation and a little bit of wishful thinking. When Sam wakes up it’s evident that at first that’s all he thinks it is - but it happened twice. It happened twice, and both times he saw  _ wings _ . And they were so majestic, and quite frankly beautiful, and Dean knows for a fact that he could never make that up.

The third time it’s real.

He can tell instantly that this isn’t in his head, this isn’t like the times before, because suddenly the wings are gone, and even though he knows he can live without seeing them, he did it for years already, he feels like there’s no way he’ll ever be able to breathe again if Cas keeps the wings hidden away.

It takes the three of them, Cas and the brothers, nearly twenty minutes to sort through everything - the first ten or so is spent with everyone yelling over each other, trying desperately to figure things out, and finally forcing themselves to shut up, sit down, and have a civilised conversation like adults. In the end, Cas takes off to the shower and Dean sits, stewing in his suspicions and his guilt.

When the angel emerges from the bathroom sometime later, he’s back in  _ his clothes _ for the first time in… years, it feels like. Dean thinks he hasn’t seen him this clean and put together (and beautiful) since, what? Before Purgatory, for sure. And even before that, really - but the point is that he looks good. He looks… younger, somehow, and more innocent.

Sam announces, after a few moments of awkward silence, that he’s going to make a supply run. He casts an obnoxious look between the other two men, then stares meaningfully at Dean, who glares back obliviously.

“I’m leaving you both here,” Sam sighs after his silent message is not received. “In case Cas needs anything. I’ll be back in a while.”

With that he leaves, the hum of the Impala’s engine fading quietly into the night.

“You said…” Castiel begins almost apologetically. “Well, actually, Sam said… you saw me?”

Dean nods, feeling his pulse spike for some odd reason. “Twice. Once on an old highway in the woods, and then again just last night through these windows.”

“Was there anything weird that you noticed?”

“Weird? Other than the fact that I could see you while you were  _ several _ states away?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas sounds impatient now, which is never a good sign. “Weirder than normal.”

Dean tilts his head, weighing his options, then sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I, uh… I could see your wings.”

Cas stiffens, eyes skittering away from Dean’s face and towards the floor as his mouth falls open just a bit.

“I apologize,” he murmurs after what feels like a lifetime. “I imagine they were not as impressive as you were expecting.”

“Are you serious?” Dean interrupts, gaping when Cas nods hesitantly. “Cas, man, they’re awesome.”

“Dean, you call nearly everything awesome. No offense, but that doesn’t really mean as much as you appear to think it does.”

He rolls his shoulders suddenly, looking uncomfortable, then turns his attention back to his companion, who is still looking incredulous and has come to perch next to the angel’s spot on the bed.

“Castiel,” Dean says, voice filled with more reverence and sincerity than Cas has ever heard before. “Your wings are beautiful.”

The words send a shudder up the angel’s spine and a flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispers.

Silence descends once more until Dean shifts his weight and looks up at Cas through his long eyelashes, looking bashful.

“Can I see them? Again?” he asks quietly, then seems to regret the words almost immediately. “I mean, y’know, if you want to, you don’t  _ have _ to--”

He cuts himself off when Cas slips off his trenchcoat.

“What’re you doing?” the hunter sounds slightly breathless and hoarse, as if his throat has gone dry. Cas gives a very small smile as he starts to unbutton his dress shirt.

“It’s a bit inconvenient to have them rip through these layers. They are, after all, my only clothes.”

Dean swallows and watches carefully as Castiel pulls off both his blazer and his shirt, leaving just his loosened tie hanging around his neck. The hunter licks his lips, allowing his eyes to drag over Cas’ bare chest for only a moment before focusing back on his now-closed eyelids and his brow furrowing in concentration.

After a few seconds, there’s a loud rustling in the air and the space behind Cas begins to shimmer. The angel mumbles a few quiet words in Enochian and within a millisecond the empty air is filled with dark, shivering feathers.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes as an unnameable weight removes itself from his chest. “Holy  _ shit _ .”

Cas shifts self consciously and tries to draw the wings back towards his body, but Dean’s hand shoots out to stop him as his eyes rake back and forth across the feathers.

“Do you…” Cas starts hesitantly, “like them?”

Dean forces his gaze to meet Cas’ and his eyes are filled with such  _ wonder _ and  _ adoration _ that Cas doesn’t even need to look deeper, to the man’s soul, to know what he is feeling.

“They’re amazing, Cas. Really,” the hunter flicks his eyes back to the wings and lets out a shaky breath. “Very, very amazing.”

Castiel flushes a deeper shade of red. “I haven’t cleaned them in several years,” he protests. “They’re dirty.”

“You mean they’re supposed to be  _ better _ than  _ this _ ?”

“Yes,” Cas replies. “In heaven, when they are polished and clean, you can navigate the galaxy from the specks of silver.”

Heat pools low in Dean’s stomach at the words and he suppresses a low groan.

“Why haven’t you cleaned them?”

Cas shrugs and fidgets with his tie. “It generally takes more than one angel. Even in our true forms, it is often difficult to reach the back of our wings.”

He flips one wing forward to demonstrate - the front, covered in mostly small downy feathers, is clean and shiny, while the back is mussed and dry or cracking in spots.

Dean winces sympathetically, eyeing the clumps of dirt and dead feathers. He takes a breath and tilts his eyes away from the angel’s before speaking.

“Could I help?”

It takes a few seconds for Castiel to realize what Dean is offering.

“You wish to… groom my wings? For me?”

Dean blushes and tries frantically to backtrack, apologize, but Cas simply lays a hand on the hunter’s knee and sends him a small smile.

“If you want to, I will not refuse. I just have to warn you that angel wings are incredibly sensitive.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean’s voice is nearly a whisper. “I won’t hurt you.”

He pats the bed carefully, deliberately, and Cas turns slowly to lie on his stomach, wings stretched out to either side. Dean clambers up beside him and kneels behind his right wing, hovering his hands just above the feathered limbs.

“Ready?” he nearly purrs, eyes darting between the majestic wings and the lovely stretch of bare skin between them.

Cas shifts one last time, nestles his head on top of a pillow, and nods.

Dean lowers his hand to the massive bone at the top of the right wing.

The angel gasps at the touch, and the hunter jerks his hand back immediately.

“ _ No _ ,” Cas growls, pushing his wing back up to meet Dean’s hand. “Keep going.”

He hears the click of Dean’s throat as he swallows, then the gentle caress of his calloused fingers returns to the sensitive feathers. Castiel pushes back a moan and buries his face in the pillow to muffle his heavy breathing as the fingers begin to stroke up and down.

“You alright? I— I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Feeling the hesitation in Dean’s fingers, Cas forces his voice to remain even in his reply.

“I’m fine, Dean. It doesn’t hurt.”

As the hand is joined by a second and both card delicately through his powerful feathers, Castiel can feel himself relaxing into the mattress. Pleasure slowly builds in his belly, heat coiling gently while he hums lightly.

Dean works attentively, barely noticing the small noises of happiness that escape the angel’s lips. Soon the first wing is rid of debris and dead feathers, and he moves to give the same treatment to the second.

After what seems to Cas like a million years, Dean leans back to consider his work.

“I think I’m done?” it comes as a question, one that Cas struggles to find an answer for through his muddled haze of a mind.

“Erm-- oil,” he eventually mumbles, voice rough and decidedly obscene. Dean swallows thickly and waits for an elaboration.

When none comes, he sighs. “What oil, angel?”

The endearment falls from his lips without his thinking about it, and he blushes fiercely but ignores how  _ right _ the word feels.

Cas scrunches his face as he thinks, then drags one heavy arm up to point at the seam where feathers meet flesh on his back.

“There,” he grunts. “For polishing.”

Dean tilts forward, running one tentative hand down the firm bone of Cas’ left wing towards his spine. When he reaches the seam, he spares a single glance up at the angel’s face before sliding gentle fingers along the slight ridge of his shoulder blade to find a small bud about halfway down. As soon as his hand brushes against it Cas lets out a deep moan and rolls his hips into the mattress in an unmistakable gesture.

Both men freeze.

Cas takes a breath, looking as if he might apologize, but before he can Dean wraps his index finger and thumb around the nub and rolls it lightly between the two digits.

The angel gasps, turning to shove his face back into the pillow and giving his hips another twitch as his wings begin to shake.

Dean smirks and swings one leg over his angel’s back, straddling his hips and twisting experimentally with his hand as he does. Cas bucks wildly and whines, low in his throat. The hunter fits his other hand into the right wing and tugs gently at the feathers, and Cas throws his head back with a long, low moan.

“ _ Dean _ ,” he pleads, and suddenly they both know this is real. Dean presses his hips down to grind against the angel’s ass, and Castiel brings both hands up to fist in the sheets by his head as he writhes in ecstasy.

Lips press to the back of his neck, and Cas arches up into the touch, whining when the action takes friction off of his cock. Dean smirks against his spine and uses the hand still nursing the oil gland to push Cas back to the bed, whispering an “ _ easy there, angel, _ ” as he does.

He pulls his hand away and notices for the first time that it’s covered in a thick coat of shining oil, and that the room has been filled with an intoxicating scent. Dean groans quietly and brings his hand to his nose, sniffing once before sticking out his tentative tongue to taste the oil.

His eyes roll back in his head at the taste.

“Holy  _ shit _ , Cas,” he moans, pressing his forehead to the angel’s shaking back. “What is this stuff?”

Cas pants and thrusts his hips up into Dean’s desperately, trying to bite out an answer through his lust.

“Wing oil. Helps with -  _ Dean, please _ \- w-with grooming. And oth-other things.”

He cuts himself off with a mewl as Dean laps at his spine, where oil is beginning to pool, and returns both hands to stroking through the dark feathers. His left hand slides easily among the dry plumage, and when it gets a fiercer reaction out of Cas he lets his right hand drag over the nub and collect a palmful of oil, as well, before returning to the feathers - all the while licking steadily down his angel’s spine.

Finally, his tongue brushes lightly against the skin directly above the oil gland, then slips down to probe at the bud itself. Cas whimpers and pushes his entire body up towards the hunter, who grins against the sensitive skin and presses a soft kiss to the downy feathers just beside the gland. Then, without warning, he takes the gland in between his lips and  _ sucks _ , and Cas  _ keens _ .

“ _ Dean! _ ” he cries out and drops his head to rest on the pillow still sitting before him.

“You like that, Castiel?” Dean murmurs, letting his teeth graze just barely across the soaking bud.

There’s a flash and a sensation of falling and suddenly Dean is on his back, staring up at the angel’s brilliant blue eyes.

Cas growls quietly and presses his hips insistently to Dean’s, then smiles when the hunter gasps and lets his own eyes fall shut.

“Look at me, Dean,” Castiel whispers, voice lower and huskier than Dean has ever heard it.

He does. He opens his eyes and they lock with the angel’s, blue on green, and before either can say anything their lips are smashed together and it’s the best kiss of Dean’s life. He moans and bucks his hips up, licking and biting at Cas’ chapped lips while his hands run greedily along his chest and shoulders.

Castiel shivers and buries his nose in Dean’s neck, places messy kisses up and down his throat, when the hunter’s hands reach his wings again.

Their skin is suddenly bare, their erections grinding against each other without any barriers, and they both gasp loudly as they rut 

“Shit, Cas,  _ yes _ ,” Dean moans and twists his hands into Cas’ feathers. “Cas, I-I want--”

A whine spills from his lips, cutting off the rest of his sentence, and Cas lifts their hips apart to let both of their heads clear.

“What do you want?” his voice, deep and gruff, sends fire spiraling through Dean’s blood to his groin and he rolls up, whimpering desperately and searching for any contact with the angel’s body. Cas leans further back, a small smirk on his face at the noises Dean continues to make. “Tell me what you want.”

Dean widens his eyes, pleading silently, and sighs when Cas simply arches an eyebrow.

“Just - touch me,” the hunter whispers after a moment. “ _ Please _ .”

Cas grins and shifts his weight to rest on one elbow, then slips his other hand tantalizingly slowly down Dean’s chest. He runs his rough fingertips over one of Dean’s hardening nipples and the hunter arches up into the touch, panting and moaning and gasping out pleads and praises.

“Cas,  _ Cas _ ,” he hisses when the angel lowers his head to mouth at Dean’s collarbone.

The man tangles his hands in Castiel’s feather and tugs insistently, wriggling his hips in discomfort. Cas presses a smiling kiss to the planes of his chest and slides the hand lower, sends shivers skittering across Dean’s stomach from the light touch.

His fingers caress gently at the hunter’s hip, running in soothing circles as Dean bucks and whines.

“ _ Please _ , angel,” Dean mutters, chest heaving with his ragged breath.

With one last gentle kiss to the column of his neck, Cas moves his hand to the side and wraps deft fingers around his hunter’s stiff erection.

Dean muffles a long moan in Cas’ shoulder, fingers stuttering in his wings, as the hand begins to stroke slowly, up and down on velvety skin.

Castiel holds the base of Dean’s cock still and leans forward to let the heads of both their dicks rub together. They each groan at the feeling, then Dean bucks up for more friction and Cas lets his hand resume motion.

He watches as the hunter falls apart beneath him, fingers clenching and twisting in soft feathers on his own back pushing him closer to the edge as well.

Whining lowly, Dean moves one hand down Cas’ arm and across his twitching stomach to grasp the angel’s own erection and tug lightly at it. Cas lets his head drop to rest on Dean’s brow, then bats his hand away and twists to reach behind himself to his back. Dean whimpers at the loss of contact, and Cas whispers quiet reassurances as he brushes his own hand over the oil glands before returning it to grip both of their cocks in a loose fist.

“Cas,” Dean pants, throwing his head back to bare his neck for the angel.

“I know,” Castiel presses open-mouthed kisses along his throat and slides his hand smoothly along their shafts, setting a quick pace that Dean eagerly bucks into.

His name continues to fall from the hunter’s lip like a prayer - although, actually, Cas has heard Dean pray and this is different than that. This is full of want and need and lust and  _ love _ , even, and underneath the man’s fluttering eyelids Castiel can see the truth of that emotion. He twists his wrist at the top of each thrust, watches as Dean lets his head fall back and his mouth fall open and Cas feels heat building in his stomach like a wave.

Dean drags both hands to the arch of Cas’ left wing and pulls it forward, pushes his head up to meet it halfway and runs his hot, velvety tongue over the feathers. Cas groans and his hips stutter mid-thrust, then the tip of his cock catches just below the head of Dean’s own and the hunter bites into the flesh of his wing and he falls off the edge.

Cas feels both cocks pulse warm, sticky fluid onto his hand at almost exactly the same time. He looks up just barely in time to catch sight of Dean’s face, full of pleasure, before they collapse onto the bed and Dean buries his head into Cas’ neck.

It’s silent for a moment, excluding their pants and gasps as they come down from their high. When it registers with Dean, what just happened, he begins to squirm self-consciously.

Here he is - a straight, manly guy - with a rapidly-drying pile of semen sandwiched on his stomach between himself and his angel best friend, who happens to be a guy. Or at least, in the vessel of one.

Castiel, noticing his discomfort, wriggles to the side to lay next to Dean instead of on top of him, and blinks slowly up at the human.

His eyes are full of fear and shame, and Cas feels his wings ruffle. Dean’s gaze is drawn to the appendages, and his face softens as he watches them. Cas drapes one leg over Dean’s hip and snuggles into his side, letting one wing fall down to rest on top of them both while the other hangs off the edge of the bed.

“Dean,” he says gruffly. “I can see that you are scared. Do you regret this?”

“No!”

Cas tilts his head to the side and raises one brow at the conviction in Dean’s reply.

“Are you sure? You look ashamed. I see it in your soul.”

Dean sighs, flips one arm to rest over his face and hide his embarrassment. “I dunno, Cas. I… that was— that was amazing. Probably the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s just, y’know…”

“You’re worried that you are disappointing your father.”

He stares, shocked at both the angel’s easy tone and the way that fits so well to what he’s feeling.

“Uh, yeah… yeah, I guess maybe I am.”

Cas curls closer and rakes a hand through Dean’s mussed hair. “I understand. John Winchester may not have been openly homophobic, but he was never supportive of same-sex couples, either. And while I myself am not male, my vessel is. If you wish for this to be a one time thing, I will abide by that.”

Dean feels his heart clench at even just the idea of never getting to do that again.

“ _ No _ !”

“Dean, I know that this is a difficult situation. I encourage you to think about it, and give yourself a moment—”

He cuts off with an  _ oof _ as Dean slams their lips together.

“Shut up,” the hunter murmurs as they pull apart a minute later, although still hovering close enough to feel each others’ breath. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. Alright?”

“Say what?” Cas mumbles, eyes locked on Dean’s lips.

“That this was just one time. Cas, you’re  _ incredible _ . You’re incredible and— and I may be a little nervous about this whole thing, but that doesn’t mean I wanted it any less - and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again.”

They’re both silent for a long moment before Cas tilts his head forward and captures Dean’s lips between his own for a long, tender kiss.

“Alright,” he whispers against his warm mouth.

Dean smiles gently and nuzzles his head into the space between Cas’ shoulder and his wing, strokes a few feathers lightly as he yawns.

“Sleep, Dean,” his angel urges. “I will be here when you awake. We can talk more then.”

The man smirks sleepily. “Just talk? I think your mouth might be good for other things, too.”

Just before he fades to sleep, he feels a soft kiss press to his temple and the wing draped over him tighten possessively.

“So is yours, I imagine.”


End file.
